The Lost Souls (The Holy Trinity #2.5)(33)

The man truly didn’t care. Including himself, David had killed four people without remorse. He didn’t even care that because of what he’d done, he too was dead. He was a monster, an abomination, and didn’t deserve to breathe another second of air.

Alongside his steadily rising emotions, Hockey felt his palms grow warm until white-hot fire encased both his hands. Seeing this, David staggered backward, gaping at him. “I knew it,” the man whispered hoarsely, clinging to the wall beside him. “I knew there was something wrong with you.”

“Wrong,” Hockey said, stepping forward, “on both accounts.” He stopped directly in front of David. “First,” he whispered, “there is nothing wrong with me. I’m a carrier of the light and, unlike you, a man deemed worthy. Second, the only gates you have to worry about are the gates of hell.”

Hockey didn’t wait for David to respond. He slapped his palms directly onto the man’s chest, and David’s body lit up in flames. Taking a step back, Hockey watched with disaffected apathy while David crumpled to the floor.

Wiping his hands off on his pants, Hockey turned away from him and entered the room. In the center, beside the garbage cans that had once housed their only heat source, was what remained of Tyler and Chris. It appeared that when Tyler had begun to rot, David had eaten Chris.

David’s first mistake had been thinking he could ingest raw flesh without cleaning it first. The human body was a mishmash of disease just waiting to happen. Once exposed to the elements…well, David had found out firsthand what could happen.

There were no shortcuts in life. You had to work for everything afforded to you, even when it came to selfishly taking another person’s life to continue your own.

Pulling the collar of his jacket up over his face, Hockey continued his walk-through, searching out Rachael’s body. He passed by the scattered belongings of the dead, now interspersed with blood, feces, and vomit, looking for her body.

Then he found her.

Lying in a fetal position on top of a dirty blanket, naked and shivering, was Rachael. Her blonde hair was matted, caked in blood and dirt. Her big blue eyes were wide and unblinking as she continuously rocked herself back and forth, murmuring and whimpering fear-filled nonsense. She, too, was sick. Not as physically ill as David had been, but death was all around her, shrouding what remained of her once colorful aura.

He bent down beside her and tentatively laid his hand on her cheek—expecting her to flinch, to scream in fear, to lash out and try to fight him—but she did nothing. She wasn’t even aware of his presence.

What had David done to her?

Bile rose in Hockey’s throat.

He could heal her. It would take all his energy, days of using his fire on her, using the element combined with his own antibodies to heal her physically.

What he couldn’t heal was her mind.

The human mind was a sturdy piece of equipment. It could handle a lot, take quite a few beatings, and survive what even the body that housed it could not.

But even the mind had its limits, and Rachael’s had far surpassed hers. Nothing remained of the woman she had been. She was a disease-ridden shell and her mind was an open wound, a blood-filled gash, unable to heal, allowing inside of it more emotionally disturbed pathogens that were doing nothing but further infecting her.

Already cupping her left cheek, Hockey slid his hand beneath the other and held her face tightly between his hands.

“Rachael,” he whispered, turning her head, forcing her to look at him.

No response. Her dead eyes looked right through him as her insane ramblings continued.

Lowering his head, he kissed her on her forehead. “May God bless you,” he whispered.

Carefully he maneuvered Rachael into a sitting position, and after wrapping the filthy blanket around her emaciated body, he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.

“May God’s face shine upon you,” he continued. “May God be good to you. May God bless you, Rachael. May God look upon you with love and bring you happiness forever and ever.”

Readying himself, his muscles bunched and his grip on her tightened. “And may nature keep you forever pressed against her bosom.”

Her neck broke easily.

“Amen,” he whispered hoarsely.

Holding her close to him, Hockey said the prayer again before laying her back down. Running his hand over her wide eyes, he closed them for the last time.

“Oh my God.”

Turning around, he found Mira standing mere feet from him, her eyes wide, full of horror and shock and…disgust.

“Mira,” he said, quickly getting to his feet. He held his hand out in offering as he took a step forward.

She scrambled backward. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed.

His mouth fell open.

“You killed her! I saw you! You snapped her neck!”

“I had to!” he yelled. “You didn’t see her! She was—”

“What?” Mira yelled. “She was what? Alive? And you killed her!”

“David was alive, too! Should I have let him live?”

“It’s different!”

Hockey took another step forward and watched in dismay as Mira moved even farther away from him.

“How is it different?” he asked, growing angry. He was suddenly sick of the naive Gajes. He was sick of their world, of this world. He was sick of being away from his family and his clan. All he wanted was to go home to a life that made sense, to be surrounded by people who understood him.